A Happy Person.
by Tom Barrie Simmons on Tuesday, 03 March 2009 at 10:00
The Philadelphia Times stated in it's first issue that another would be printed in a months time, 'provided there was news to report'. Times have changed, IT. is almost everywhere, but in Cuba there are problems.
Since then, (two centuries?) have passed. World events are still shaped by economics, politics, and the weather. (Remember that the flood of the Old Testament was not the first to be recorded, the story of Gilgamesh had an account of one before that). Lives are lived in the hope of better things to come, or perhaps of maintaining the status quo, but surely not in the hope of a regression?
But increasingly, we are drowning in a virtual flood, a flood of 'information'. Is it possible to have too much of a good thing? Like red wine, or love, for instance. And since information takes time to digest, if we consume too much, does something have to make way?
Since I came to Cuba, a curious calm has settled over me. I tried to fathom out what the cause could be. If somebody asks “why are you wearing a hat?” my answer is simple, “to keep the sun off my head”. But if asked “why are you happy?” the answer would not be so straightforward.
“Less is More”. I don't know where this saying comes from, and it is open to question as to whether it has any universal application. But in some respects, it carries a ring of truth.
The value of information decreases in proportion to it's quantity. Remember the last time you had a holiday. Did you keep to your usual schedule of TV news and soaps, papers and magazines? If not, did you feel any loss, or was the experience beneficial?
Here in Havana, there are no newsagents, no stalls selling papers and magazines, just a few old men, selling copies of 'Granma International'* the official government newspaper. It is printed in several languages, and on occasion, I buy one to see what the party line is.
Foreign delegates visiting Cuba, or the opening of a new factory are of limited interest to me. There is no gossip, or scandals, but if there is an event that is likely to affect the world, it is reported in plain words. I am lucky. I can go to an internet café, (an expense most Cubans forgo) and read any newspaper I care to on-line. I rarely do. I have found that, like the 'serve yourself carvery', when greater quantity costs no extra, the temptation to over-consume is difficult to resist.
One of the functions of the connoisseur is to extract the best from what exists, or history leaves. Not everyone agrees, but if enough sifting is done, we are left with something worthwhile. As with 'wikipaedia', we can benefit from the labours of specialists.
Time and distance give a perspective that the present does not allow, even if tastes change, this only serves to enhance understanding, as in the current fashion for 'history of the people'. So, where does this leave us.
This is a Cuba perspective. Written by someone ignorant, but trying to learn, trying to understand how others live. In doing so, I gain an insight into myself that would otherwise be hidden.
Every day brings a new experience, another preconception is shattered, a 'truth universally acknowledged' is found to be defective, and the curiosity that leads me to question, tells me more about myself and the world.
Yesterday, I went shopping, or more specifically, I went looking for bananas. Since the hurricanes, three in quick succession of late, fresh produce has been very difficult to obtain.
A few oranges, but bananas, none. after a fruitless search, (sorry, I had to put that one in:-) during which I discovered that even in winter, the high humidity makes walking a sweaty affair, I had to give up.
Bananas will, I am sure, taste like nectar of the Gods when they finally come to market.
In the evening, I started to read Victor Hugo's 'Hunchback of Notre Dame'. I thought I knew the story, but had never found the time to read it. My copy, one of three books I have with me here, was printed in the USA by 'The Spencer Press' in 1937. It runs to 414 pages, is hardback, bound in green cloth and is very well worn. It is one of my treasures.
It was given to me by my friend David. It was the only book he possessed in the English language. It had been presented to him by his English teacher, (I should explain that after his accident he was forced to give up his university studies and learnt English at home).
He told me that he studied English with his American teacher for 8 years, 3 times a week, 4 hours a session. I am the first Englishman he has ever spoken with. We had no trouble communicating.
After we had gone for a drink at the nearby café, David had asked me back to his home, while I waited in the living room, he had driven his scooter into a back room, shortly returning with the book on his lap.
Imagine signing your name, using a mirror, on paper held between your feet, with your hands bound behind you, holding an oil covered pen. Then you will have an idea how difficult it is for David to write.
As I type this, the book is beside me on the sofa. Edge on, it has the appearance of a strip of weather beaten pine, ridged, with dark flecks along the grain. I open it and read, in bold but spidery letters, the inscription:
To My Friend TOM
who make me a happy Person
Thank a Lot
DAVID